To a man, Air Force Security
Police will agree that our officers and NCOs were tops across
the board... except for now and then one would slink
over from state-side and forget that he wasn't in the land
of the big-BX any longer.
Dismal
days, hot and sweaty. Nights spent on post that could be better
used for sleeping, "after all, it got down to 85° tonight!"
One day following the next. Routine sets in. We start looking
for something, anything to break the boredom and rhythm. Too
soon it arrives in the form of a state-side bandy rooster
lieutenant---Second Lieutenant, L-T, all 5' 5" of him.
Recent grad of
OCS, and probably even took ROTC twice. He majored in proctology
and minored in smelling salts and when thought of at all was
generally in relationship to a body or face. Right after getting
his gold bar, singular, brass, and unscratched, pinned on,
he begs, demands, throws a fit until he gets a combat posting.
Two days in-country and he is winning the war by assuring
all the enlisted ranks know all their security instructions.
L-T's checking
all the posts! Asking for the security questions and instructions. What's your fourth security instruction airman? You'd
better know your pass word of the day too! Cobra and Tiger
(the security police flights that had flight line security
during the day and night) were going nuts with the talk of
what he had done the day before. Chewed out so and so, done
this, done that, you'd have thought he was Uncle Ho and the
devil rolled into one entity. And all things considered---he
was, at least a close cousin.
At Guardmount
it was announced that L-T was going to check the K-9 posts. Check the K-9 posts? Why? L-T is all spit and polish,
pressed, double-starched, and just out of the tailors, baths,
and basic training. He has a firm grasp of me-officer,
you-enlisted-man concepts and attitudes. And it's apparant
to all that he's come to Đà Nàng to straighten us out and win
the war for us, single handedly. And he's not happy that we're
not appreciative of his efforts, or happy to see him.
Sentry dog handlers
are somewhat the opposite of a boot-lieutenant, out of necessity.
K-9 Sentry dog handlers' uniforms are clean, or at least they
once were, but may not have seen an iron (ever) or been anywhere
near starch (if potato spills at the chow hall don't count).
Boots, without exception, have never been spit-shinned,
we do however hose the mud off of them so mamasan won't have
to spend half a day trying to make them black again, and we
do wash our socks regularly. Generally, our hair is cut and
we don't smell too bad (admitedly, more than one physical
altercation has debated this point), unless we're in a group,
but individually we're tolerable... generally. We were
taught to march in basic training and probably have done so
at least once since then. On the plus side, most of us walk
upright, have controlled our drooling (at women), and can
speak in intelligent sentences (having passed the Air Force
IQ test). And, our dogs do the talking for us most of the
time (there are a few recorded cases where you did get a better
qualified answer by asking the dog and not the handler). We generally keep to ourselves.
At guardmount
we are informed that the Flight Sargent and L-T will be making
the rounds together tonight, and to be sharp and let's
get this over with. I said, "Yep, sure thing sarge... " but thought, "Haven't lieutenants got better things
to do than bother us? maybe he'll not stop when challenged
and we can feed him to the dog."
"Which post does
Lance or Blackie have?" were the endearments muttered as we
filed away to get our partners and start our evening patrol.
Sarge called me aside and said, "Dunlap I put you on kilo
17 because I'm going to start the inspection of posts there
tonight with you."
I thought, "@!@#$%&!"
but said, "Ok sarge, no problem, but why are you telling me
this on the QT?"
"Just thought
if the Lieutenant met you and Blackie, it may cause
him to stand off the rest of the guys... and we never had
this conversation and don't mention this to anyone either,
GOT IT?"
"What conversation?"
I ask leaving to get Blackie out of his kennel. Blackie, I'm
relieved to see, is happy to see me and raring to go. He's
obviously thinking, "We get to go play, I get to go play,
I get to kill something, let's go play, play, play!!!"
The usual thoughts crossing his mind. I put his choke-chain
around his large neck, snap on the leash, pull the muzzle
over his jaws. Now let's go, go, go!!! Watch out, here
I come, I get to go out." Sometimes you have to wonder
if we really deserve such attention and affection.
The walkout posts,
near the kennels, generally grouped up and took off together
as a unit. Each one of us would drop off in our area and it
gave us an opportunity to BS on the way out. We were all going
over our signals, if we got inspected first, on how we were
going to alert everyone else. We carried Motorola radios that
were half the size of a cereal box to communicate with. What
we would do if one of us got hit by a post inspection is key
the mike in a pattern of bursts, 3, 2, 1. Everyone's radio
would go Psst-Psst-Psst, Psst-Psst, Psst. Also the
driver back at the kennels would do this when the Sargent
walked out to check on us, or if he had to drive him out to
do it. Sort of an advanced warning system.
We really thought
we were out-smarting the old sarge, not to mention officers,
with this early-warning-system, but the truth is---old sarge
is probably the one who taught us how to use it. Afterall,
if we look bad we make him look bad... and no sargeant
on the planet will ever willingly let that happen.
We'd get the
first warning that they were leaving, then the second when
they arrived. Not very original, but it worked. This also
allowed the second post in, anywhere on the line, to check
out the one beside them and pass the word down if their area,
or not, was were the inspection was happening. And everyone
was wondering where the L-T was going to strike first. I was
wondering what Blackie and I were going to do when he started
in on us. And besides, what was it Sarge kept telling us the
fourth security instruction was?
As part of the
walk-out post group, I was the first to peal off, and wished
everyone else good luck, and good hunting, and made ready
for my chore that evening. I settled in on post and begin
to think perhaps the L-T would find something better to do
afterall, and would skip coming out on the line. One of the
problems with our warning system is that our transister radio's
were always making noise anyway, and sometimes you weren't
sure if it was the signal or not. Other times the squelch
knob would rotate out so it wouldn't go Psst even if
that was the sound the human voice tried to make when transmitting.
All this was going through my head as I awaited my fate. Let's
see... aha... I will quit my post only when... aha... properly... aha---no that's not it. Added
to the uneasy feeling that everything was going to turn to
manuer when L-T shows up (that's not the bad part... it's when
sarge shows up the next day my troubles begin), but it was
the fact I had to wear my helmet, gear, and can't let Blackie
off leash for a real play-break, and that's a pain in the
backside, because he's getting snarling mad not getting his
way and is beginning to plot how to make my life miserable---which
I've been told is how wives behave---but then, maybe we'll
get lucky and have a genuine attack and this K-9 post inspection
crap will be postponed.
Well let's get
Blackie in a good mood for this anyway, just in case. We swept
our area and then I kept him alerting on the marines walking
the back road and in their bunkers. Of course Blackie thought
it was all fun and games. Normally I tried to keep him from
terrorizing the marines too much. After all, he had quite
a reputation with them and there was no need to keep adding
to it. I was startled when I heard the radio squawk, Psst-Psst-Psst,
Psst-Psst, Psst! We were committed! Enemy in the area!
"Let's do this
Blackie, watch him, boy!" I put him on alert and we
started to sweep our area. The time had come and I still didn't
know what I was going to do. I wondered if there was enough
time to teach Blackie to fake sun-stroke when anyone
asked me a security instruction... but would that really
work at midnight, and how long would it take Sarge to catch
on? And what could I do, short of letting Blackie eat L-T
... afterall everbody knows Blackie's appetite, and there
would just be one story, and... and this just wasn't
going to work. There was only one solution: I had to encourage
L-T this was not all fun and games, and to want to go play
somewhere else, and there's no way---Psst-Psst-Psst, Psst-Psst,
Psst!
It was one of
those black nights with very little moon, and cloud cover
to boot. You had to have good night vision to see anything
and I was counting on the enemy's not having adjusted yet.
I saw Blackie alert on them, abreast of each other walking
along the perimeter. Sarge knew to make the right amount of
noise. I knew they hadn't spotted me yet so I squatted down
and let them come to me. When they were about 20 feet away
I stood and challenged them: "HALT, WHO GOES THERE?"
At the same time
I sent Blackie to the end of his leash. He knew something
was up, and he was playing his part perfectly. He sensed something
was bothering me and these two looked guilty to him. Watching
and growling, there was no doubt that he wanted some action. "Sargent So-and-So and the Lieutenant!" came back the
reply. Sargent was 6' 2" and with the 5' 5" lieutenant, they
made a Mutt and Jeff looking pair. Sarge knew that, but L-T
didn't have a clue. "ADVANCE AND BE RECOGNIZED!" I stated,
still unsure of what I was going to do next.
They moved to
within seven or eight feet and I told them to stop for safety.
Putting My flashlight beam on them I acknowledged them, pulling
Blackie in to heal close to me, I reported my post as secure
and waited for what I thought was the inevitable. L-T was
beside himself. He actually was sputtering! "A-A-A-Airman,
aren't you supposed to salute when you report your post as
being secure?" he finally forced out. A light began to shine
in the back of my mind. He moved closer, within five feet
now. A moth circling a candle. "WELL, AREN'T YOU?"
"No Sir", I stated.
"Regulations say that I am not supposed to salute you when
reporting my post because my dog may interpret that as a signal
to attack, Sir!"
"REGULATIONS?
WHAT REGULATIONS? I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF ANY REGULATION STATING
THAT AIRMAN!" It was obvious L-T thought I was hearing-impared,
and that he was in full swing, fancing he had caught himself
one, and he was going to do the officer squeeze play.
I replied, "Air
Force regulations regarding Sentry Dogs Sir!" The Flight Sargent
tried to back me up but L-T would have none of it.
"AIRMAN, I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF ANY SUCH REGULATION, AND THEREFORE IT
DOESN'T EXIST. I'M AN OFFICER AND YOU WILL SALUTE
ME WHEN YOU REPORT YOUR POST TO ME---GOT IT?"
His fate was
sealed. I had been letting out a little of Blackie's leash
as I took his abuse, and all along Blackie was taking L-T's
tone personal and I could feel the deep rumbling growl
vibrating from him as he stealthfully took advantage of the
slack leash. Whenever we were talking to anyone I had to watch
Blackie because he would scoot backwards, trying to get some
slack on the leash, and would suddenly rocket forward letting
the person know that he has a death cry never before exclaimed.
Blackie scared many a marine and myself a few times until
I caught on to what he was doing. L-T was within five feet
of me, the kill zone, and Blackie now had about three and
a half feet of leash and if my hand pointed toward the lieutenant,
Blackie would have a good six feet of charging room. I took
a twist of the leash tightly around my hand, and snapping
to attention, I answered, "YES SIR!"
Somehow, I
swear I don't know how it happened, but in the act of
snapping to attention and starting my salute, my hand extended directly at L-T, and in my clumsy-enlisted movement
I somehow kicked Blackie in the upholstery. I must
have been distraught with concern for L-T's safety.
Normally it would never have happened. Honest.
Blackie was a
81mm mortar leaving the tube. Tan and Black, and all teeth.
The dopler effect snapped as light-waves stretched to keep
up with Blackie as he---oh my goodness---lunged with
a fury I hadn't seen since the first time he chased me out
of his kennel. L-T was standing frozen in triumph, reveling
in the glory of an enlisted discretion that he was correcting---only
his eye balls revealed a flickering awareness of immenient
death. Yet a quizical this isn't the way things are supposed
to go swept the now saucer-size orbs.
A college grad
(note to army, navy, and marine types: All Air Force officers
graduated high school and college, unlike your GED officers),
he was discovering, perhaps for the first time, that he was
not now at the top of the food chain, and he was scared! I
watched his face blanch and go white. I am shamed at the joyious
pleasure this gave me (heh-heh). I don't know what kept L-T
standing there, other than stark terror (as I'm sure he was
without backbone). L-T was receiving an impression---a Blackie
Attitude Impression.
At the magic
moment when the prey has given up all hope of life,
or ever seeing mom's face again... when his entire feeble
life has flashed across his face---twice---and death is as
certain as his soiled pants, and he feels the fetted breath
(sorry Blackie) of the beast and glimpses the K-9 fangs and
feels Blackie's spiked nails rake ZORRO across his
chest---I checked Blackie's cannonball-momentum with practiced
ease (okay... okay so what if there were an abundance of marines
to practice on).
"DA..da-da... da-da-da-"
L-T sputtered and I thought he was trying out some kind of
Morse Code, but he completed the sentence: "DA-da-da-DAM!"
Blackie's teeth,
which must have looked to him to be two feet long, had snapped
just in front of L-T's slaiva splattered face close enough
he wouldn't need to shave for a week. "Damn it, Lieutenant,
I told you that I wasn't supposed to salute you! Calm down
dog!" I shouted while playing in and out the leash. The whole
time as I was pulling him back, I was pinching him on the
side facing away from L-T. The Flight Sargent meanwhile, was
caught between backing me up, and wanting to totally bust
up laughing. Knowing what to look for, Sarge saw me nudging Blackie, but was telling L-T that I had tried to warn him.
All the while Blackie continued trying to lunge at the lieutenant
and I continued to pull him back, and finally just had to
take a walk with him to get him to calm down.
It was a strange
scene. L-T standing there trying to maintain any semblance
of dignity that he could. The Flight Sargent making sure L-T
was okay and telling me to control that "SOB (everyone called
him that now)", and Blackie still trying for just a little
taste of officer hinny. And me, trying desperately
to calm frienzed Blackie down from fifteen feet away, apologizing,
and stammering that my post was secure---but not saluting.
I think it was
the first breath that L-T had taken since the entire episode
began. A little color seemed to appear in his cheeks, his
gaze however was locked firmly on Blackie. We stood there
for what must have been a full minute, nobody saying anything.
I was wondering what was going to happen next. Did I overstep
my bounds and now was going to find myself in sandbag
hell? L-T broke the silence by squeaking out something and
then turning, began to walk along the perimeter toward the
next post.
Sarge gave me
a wink, and turned to follow L-T. I gave Blackie another boot
which sent him charging out to the end of his leash barking
madly. He could make a definite impression when he wanted
to. I watched L-T flinch with each bark until they rounded
the bend and went out of sight.
Funny thing... L-T never did ask me what any of my security instructions
were.
Blackie turned
to look back at me with that "Did I do good Boss?" look. Kneeling
down, I put my arms around him and told him that he was the
greatest doggie in the world---and meant it! The rest of the
evening was uneventful. I chatted with a few of the marines
in Alpha CO, who agreed that officers were strange creatures---and
no, I probably wouldn't get a medal for saving the lieutenant's
life---and then just spent some time with Blackie in case
L-T decided he had a backbone afterall. Occasionally the radio
would go Psst-Psst-Psst, Psst-Psst, Psst, so we knew
that they were still on the prowl, but eventually that ended.
The sun came
up and we got the call to come in, so gathering my gear I
walked over to Perimeter Road and waited for the rest of the
guys to join me. We grouped up and started the bull session
for the walk back to the kennels. Everyone was saying that
L-T wasn't such a bad ass as Cobra and Tiger Flights had made
him out to be. They'd challenge him, he'd stop and watched
as they reported their posts, and asked a few questions and
then move on. "Hell, the chaplain was a bigger pain than
the Lieutenant had been!" one handler remarked.
I listened quietly
until I couldn't control my curiosity any longer. "Tell me
guys, did he make any of you salute when you reported your
post?"
"Salute? Nobody
makes you salute! You know that! Damn dogs would attack them
if we did that! Nope... why? Did he make you salute?" Downplaying
the incident I said that he had asked for a salute and just
said that Blackie had gone nuts when I saluted. I didn't want
to replay the entire episode because some of it might escape,
and then I'd be in hot water with L-T for sure. I also found
out that L-T stayed back about ten feet from the K-9 while
make the rounds.
At the kennels
I put Blackie away and instead of catching the truck back
to the chow hall I went into the office. The Flight Sargent
was filling out paperwork and he and I looked at each other.
"What are you doing Dunlap?"
"Getting Blackie
a treat," I replied, and pulled out two cans of dog food.
Normally the dogs got fed by the day workers and unless they
had been placed on a special diet by the Vet, all they got
was dry food mixed with water. "I figure he's earned a little
treat for himself."
Nothing more
was ever said about the L-T's inspection of K-9, but the two
of us knew. As for L-T, he continued to harass Cobra and Tiger
flights, but for some reason, never again checked the K-9
posts. And Blackie? You should have seen his eyes bulge out
of his head as he watched me put two cans of dog food in his
dish and then slide him the bowl. Doggie Heaven! Almost as
good as officer hinny we agreed.
Greg Dunlap
Santa Rosa, California
